


Like The Archangel?

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Flirting, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: His monotone world blooms into startling vivid colours for a lingering moment.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 148





	Like The Archangel?

“—my. Sammy.”

He groans. “Go ‘way, Dean.”

The gentle but insistent hand continues shaking his shoulder.

“Dude, don’t you have class,” Dean murmurs on a drowsy sigh.

“Got time. ‘larm didn’t go off yet.”

Dean hums a long unconvinced note, sloppy and languid. “Y’know, it’s already…” He trails off, not making a single attempt to complete his sentence; he doesn’t know what time it is, isn’t really bothered to find out.

That’s when Sam realizes he can smell the rich dark scent of coffee in the air. Downstairs, there’s the distinct sound of someone puttering around in the kitchen making breakfast, quiet and domestic. He glances at Dean — who is somehow managing to doze off while standing upright, soft and sleep rumpled and sporting his just-rolled-out-of-bed spiky hedgehog hair — with the dawning realization of just what time it probably is.

Now wide awake, Sam sits up, fumbling for his phone. The snow white digital numbers are too bright for his eyes and he squints furiously at the big _ 8:47AM _ glaring back at him from the center of the screen.

“No—”

His lecture is at 9AM.

“Nonononono…”

Sure Sam would make it if he rushed a little because his legs are long and they lived together in a house just five minutes of leisurely walking away from the largest buildings on campus, but he wouldn’t have time for coffee _ and _ he’d have to brave the rather ridiculous floods of people packed into the halls.

Immediately forgetting about Dean, Sam rolls out of bed and stumbles into his bathroom.

By the time Sam barrels down the stairs a few minutes later with one arm shoved into his jacket and his backpack hanging off one shoulder, Dean is seated at the table with a steaming mug of coffee and his arm firmly around Castiel’s waist as he nods off with his head resting against Castiel’s side. Castiel is absently petting Dean’s hair with a soft fond look of pure adoration; he sends Sam a gentle smile when their eyes meet.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam easily greets as he shrugs both his jacket and his backpack on at the same time, hopping around on the large tiles by the door as he struggles to pull his boots on as quickly as he could without risking injury.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel returns, low and content.

With a small smile, Sam crouches down to tie his laces. He loves having breakfast in the mornings, when his brother and Castiel are both carelessly affectionate; it’s a good look on them and never fails to make Sam’s heart melt — second hand happiness, if you will. Or maybe it’s just contagious. But unfortunately, that can’t be today.

Then Dean is whining a drowsy petulant sound of protest to Castiel’s quietly murmured reassurances, and Sam glances up just as Castiel is pressing a warm parchment paper wrapped bundle into his hands.

“What—”

“No skipping breakfast.”

“Oh, you didn’t—”

“Sam—”

They both pause, share a wide grin, and proceed to talk at the same time again.

“I’m gonna—”

“You should—”

Castiel glances up at the ceiling in playful exasperation and Sam laughs, raising the package in a salute.

“Gotta go. Thanks, Cas.” He unlocks the front door, takes a single step out. “See you guys later.”

As usual, Castiel nods with a hum of agreement and Dean musters up enough strength to grunt an acknowledgement.

Trotting along at a comfortable pace that steadily ate away at the distance he had to cover, Sam gently shoves his way through a particularly dense crowd, bumping arms and shoulders and backpacks — and even some heads — as he goes. He ducks his head with apologetic winces whenever someone turns to glare with a disgruntled huff, mindlessly repeating a mantra of _ sorry excuse me sorry _ as he inches forward.

Sam’s patience is wearing thin — he’s tired and hungry and _ why are there so many rude people who refuse to move even an inch? _ — when his monotone world blooms into startling vivid colours for a lingering moment. Frozen like a deer caught in headlights, he gapes with wide eyes at the pale sky blue sweater a girl in front of him is wearing, greedily drinking in the sight of _ colour. _ Realization hits Sam rather belatedly and he twists around, a muscle in his neck protesting sharply, to scan the crowd in desperation. But his delayed reaction has cost him; Sam doesn’t see anyone beyond bored students mingling about.

And he’s _ still _ going to be late.

So despite what feels like a physical hand around his heart squeezing mercilessly for his decision, Sam turns tail and flees to class.

He ends up seven minutes late, dropping into an empty seat near the back of the lecture hall with a muted sigh. Sam pushes his thoughts aside and focuses on _ school, _ dragging himself through the lecture and his usual study time in the library afterward with sheer stubbornly determined force of will.

The house is empty when Sam returns; he sighs, loud and long, falling into a graceless sprawl on his bed. Dean will be back in an hour, Castiel after three, and they will have dinner together, a routine that had somehow developed despite no real official agreement on any of their parts.

Sam blinks at the blank expanse of the ceiling, slow and heavy with exhaustion. He probably should have slept earlier last night; his absolute failure to ingest any sort of caffeine during his waking hours certainly doesn’t help his case. Mere moments before he slips fully into sleep, the memory of a bright flash of gold surfaces in Sam’s mind, fleeting but somehow important enough for his brain to recall. Far too tired to dwell on what his instincts might — or might not — be trying to tell him, Sam chalks it up as a reflection of light off some jewelry that had managed to catch his attention long enough to burn into his short term memory, and closes his eyes.

What feels like minutes later, a gentle and hesitant hand is nudging Sam’s shoulder.

“Mmph—” He knows it couldn’t be Dean, not when Dean would be much less cautious, careless in the way that he knew just how much force he could or should be using. “Cas?”

“Sam.”

The voice is low and rough, a unique timbre to only one person. Hauling himself upright, Sam pushes absently at the warm blanket tucked around his shoulders.

“‘m up. Be there in a minute.”

“Alright,” Castiel murmurs.

Sam doesn’t tell anyone about what had happened on his way to class.

\---

“—for Sam!”

He peels open a cardboard sleeve, sliding it up his drink. “Thank you.”

“Have a good one,” the barista says, already busy pouring another beverage.

As always, he’s sorry for the person working there. Without fail, there is constantly a long line of impatient students waiting for their caffeine fix, no break in sight. It almost excuses the misspelled names on the sides of countless cups. _ Almost. _ At least his name is short and simple, so it’s never been butchered before; Sam feels terrible for the girl next to him, who is scowling furiously at the clear _ Mitchell _ scrawled on her drink.

Sam cradles his coffee like something delicate and precious as he strolls to the library, cold autumn breeze swirling playfully through his hair. It’s already been a week of vigilant but fruitless people watching and Sam had given up on searching for a needle in the haystack. He couldn’t afford to spend all his time looking for someone he didn’t even know the appearance of, not when a little slacking meant falling far behind in his courses.

A few brief moments of increasingly frustrated wandering brings Sam the good fortune of finding a pair of empty cubicles near the back, tucked into the corner of the floor amongst the still silence of rarely visited old reference books. With a faint pleased smirk, Sam settles down, sipping carefully at his still scalding coffee as he fills deliberate blanks he’d left in his lecture notes by cross-referencing with lecture slides posted online.

He’s working himself into a great rhythm, delighted by how easily he’s picking up the material. _ This _ is what Sam always enjoys about learning; when it doesn’t feel like tedious memorization, pure painful forcing of facts into a resisting mind. Instead, it’s about the desire to achieve _ understanding _ of a topic: a need to know, not perform.

Time slips by quite easily as Sam studies. It’s something he isn’t too worried about — Dean or Castiel will not hesitate to call if Sam stays out too late — but he does pause to take another sip of his forgotten coffee, frowning idly down at the lukewarm liquid through the square cut into the lid for drinking.

Then a hand taps his shoulder, firm fleeting pressure, and before Sam’s eyes, his coffee turns a deep rich brown. His mind vaguely registers the sickly neon colours of the chart on his laptop screen as he literally jumped in surprise. Thankfully, Sam had already set down his coffee, or that would’ve been a disaster asking to happen.

As if the universe wanted him to suffer in some glorious way, Sam ends up smashing his knee against the underside of the table. Wincing with a sharp gasp, he yanked his earbuds out of his ears and whirls around in his seat.

“Hey, you okay?”

“That rhymed—” Sam blinks, mesmerized by the beautiful mix of clear light brown and warm honey ember colour of the stranger’s eyes. “Uh… Hi,” he blurts, wrinkling his nose at his own awkwardness.

The stranger — _ soulmate? _ — smiles, and Sam instantly finds himself smiling back. Much like Sam’s, the stranger has hair leaning to the longer side, curling softly around his ears and at the nape of his neck and _ oh— _ he’s blond. Just like Jessica. But while Jessica’s had been the colour of bright summer sunshine, this man has something darker in the exact shade of raw gold.

“Is your knee okay? You hit the table pretty hard.”

“It’s fine— _ I’m _ fine— I mean, my knee is—”

That coaxes out a laugh, bright and airy. “Sorry I startled you. You were really into whatever you were doing…” He tilts his head to one side, squints slightly. “Sam…?”

“Wh—” Then Sam remembers: _ coffee. _ His name is still scribbled on the side in bold black permanent marker. “Oh. Yeah.”

This time the smile is crooked and amused. “I’m Gabriel.”

“Like the archangel?”

Gabriel leans back in his seat, smile fading as he observes Sam. Nervous under the scrutiny, Sam tenses, until Gabriel hums and speaks again.

“Didn’t think you’d be the religious type.”

Sam breathes a surprised laugh. “Oh I’m not, I just— I just know a lot of random useless trivia.”

“Well, my parents are _ hardcore _ religious… Me n my poor siblings,” Gabriel huffs.

“You have siblings— Do you… know a Castiel?”

Gabriel brightens. “You know Cassie?”

“Living with him, actually—” The words recieve a frown, and Sam hurries to explain. “He’s my brother’s soulmate!”

“...Can’t believe he found his soulmate before I did,” Gabriel sulks, crossing his arms.

Sam’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He digs it out, glances at the screen. “Sorry, I—”

Gabriel waves a lazy _ go ahead, _ nodding.

“Hey.”

_ “Hey yourself. Still studying?” _

“Yeah. Is it that late already?”

_ A hum. “C’mon, Cas made pie.” _

Sam grins. “You sure you want to share?”

_ “Hey, I resent that— Fine, you’re not gettin’ any.” _

“That’s mean,” Sam laughs. “Oh, ‘right if I bring a plus one?”

_ “...Sure. They hot?” _

“Seriousl—”

_ “I’m kiddin’, don’t blow your top. Glad you met someone.” _

“...Yeah?”

_ “Yeah. Now hurry up, we ain’t gettin’ any younger waiting for you.” _

“Okay, okay. Got it, jerk.”

_ “Bitch. Be careful.” _

Sam taps the red button to hang up with a smile. “So— uh, I’m sure you heard, but— d’you want to come with?”

Gabriel smirks. “Introducing me to the fam already?” It grows into a mischievous grin. “Would be awkward if I said no, wouldn’t it.”

_ Oh. _

It hadn’t even occurred to Sam that Gabriel might turn down the offer.

“Ah, it’s fine, if you don’t want to—”

“I’m joking! No need to make that face.” Gabriel reaches out and touches the pad of his index finger to the tip of Sam’s nose. “Turn that frown upside down— Course I want to go, you’re my _ soulmate.” _

Ducking his head shyly, Sam busies himself packing up his papers and laptop. He tugs his jacket on and stands abruptly, swinging his backpack over a shoulder with the now cold coffee clutched in one hand.

“Whoa, you’re _ tall,” _ Gabriel squeaks, eyes round and impressed. “Good thing I like climbing.” He rises from his seat with effortless grace, maintaining burning eye contact before giving Sam a cheeky wink and sauntering off.

A few paces away, Gabriel turns back.

“You planning to stand and stare all day, Samsquach?”


End file.
